Page 35

I climb over the wall to sit on the bench as Coach Rice sends new players in. I’ve been playing for a good chunk of time and welcome the break to suck down some water. My eyes remain on the ice as I watch the men I’ve gotten closer to on my team continue to play, though my lips curl when someone checks one of us into the boards.

“Fight him off!” Coach screams. “Come on, ref. Are you seeing this shit?”

He sees it, he’s just ignoring it. Portland refs are dicks. I both revel and hate playing here, because I know it’ll be bloody. Ci is beating the fuck out of the player in defense of our teammate, and ends up in the Sin Bin for his efforts. It had to be done.

We can’t take their bullshit or they’ll think they can take our win from us, despite what the scoreboard says.

“The refs must be blind,” Tembley mutters beside me. I bob my head to show I heard him, my eyes on the clock as it runs down. We’re minutes away from winning this game. Tembley is a center and a good guy.

He welcomed me immediately when I was drafted. Not everyone was as excited, but what other people think of me isn’t my problem. I’ll just keep showing up for them, despite the mess my personal life is.

“Come on,” I mutter, leaning forward. Draven gets hit with a fucking puck and we all rise up with a yell. I wince as he snarls, and the Canyons on the ice dog pile on top of the unfortunate Oiler who can’t fucking aim.

“Stupid fuck,” Coach growls, his eyes on the fight. “I’m not going to say he doesn’t deserve it, but this fight will cost us.”

The refs allow it to continue when the other Oilers join in, and my blood pressure rises until I feel as if my head is going to pop off. Fuck, this is a shit show.

At least they stopped the clock. It takes some time before they pull everyone off, and several more players end up joining Ci in the penalty box.

I’m shaking my head still as I jump back onto the ice, focused on running down the clock without the Oilers scoring again.

“We hit your goalie good!” an Oiler chirps, slamming into my shoulder as I grit my teeth. I turn off my ears and ignore him completely.

For all I know, he could be saying that I enjoy having my balls licked by a giraffe. Fuck that guy, I don’t care what he thinks. I’ll happily be a brick wall and impenetrable to his bullshit.

I make my slapshot into the goal and grin as it sails over the goalie’s left shoulder just as the clock runs out. Breathing a sigh of relief, I’m taken by surprise as my team jumps all over me as the Oiler fans boo.

We’ll have our own celebration. As hard as it is to be boo’d, it helps to know that it’s because we murdered the other team on the ice.

“Are we ready to get the fuck out of Portland?” I ask, grinning as we begin skating toward the exit to get to the visitors locker room.

“Yes,” Draven growls, throwing his arm over my shoulder as he lumbers along. Goalie gear is bulky as shit.

We’re spending the night at a hotel room and then heading out to our next away game tomorrow. It’s a heavy week of games, but the pace keeps my mind occupied. Otherwise, I’ll think about her. My least favorite month is October now.

She’s everywhere during that time. It’s hard to think about anything else and we all dream about her screams at night.

“I’m wiped,” Ciaran mutters, pulling off his gear as we enter the locker room.

We definitely left it all on the ice tonight. The team is quiet as we shower and dress, and Coach pops his head in, his eyes moving until he finds me. I used to love the limelight. If I kicked ass and took names, I wanted people to know because it meant getting noticed by the scouts.

Now? I prefer not to be in front of the cameras. I don’t think I’m going to get out of it tonight though.

“Steele! Get pretty and come talk to your adoring fans,” Coach calls out, making light of how much I dislike the press.

“Yes, sir,” I reply, pretending to fix my hair before finishing up.

My teammates chuckle as I stuff my feet into loafers and pull my tie to straighten it.

“I’ll grab your bag and meet you by the buses,” Ciaran says.

“Thanks,” I say, heading out. The three of us have changed. The grandstanding is old, and we no longer do it. We keep our noses clean, and hide our secrets to keep anyone from knowing how fucked up we truly are.

I’m going to need to fuck Ciaran’s tight hole tonight while Draven chokes him with his cock and cuts him. Otherwise, he’ll stare at a wall and obsess over Noor.

Ci stopped taking our calls his last year of college and went into a depressive spiral, freaking Draven and I out. We had to drive to the hockey frat house to check on him, finding he was drinking too much and hallucinating about Noor.

His guilt and obsession over a dead girl took over his entire life. It still threatens to swallow him up and really good things are a trigger to spiral him out.